


Pull Down The Mask

by Pleasant_Nightmares



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: "unholy abomination" is my friend's affectionate term for this, Canon Divergence, M/M, aka he's a stoner, crackfic, despite all else elias is still the lukases' sugar baby, elias is uncomfortably paternal to everyone and no one likes it, elias retains his college habits, no one here is straight except for jonah magnus and jurgen leitner, this dives into the crack real quick there is no preparation, tim is the archivist, we are so terrible at tagging sorry if these get updated every two seconds lmao, we love pretending everything is fine right folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pleasant_Nightmares/pseuds/Pleasant_Nightmares
Summary: My friend was too much of a coward to post this, so I'm posting this for them (With their permission of course).Pull down the mask and pretend everything is okay in the Magnus Archives, everything is fine and everyone is alright and there are many shenanigans to be committed.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter One

Jonathan Sims, researcher at the Magnus Institute (named after their illustrious founder, Jonah Magnus) was walking up the steps of the Institute. When, suddenly, his coffee fell to the ground, and a magazine fell on his face. 

Picking the magazine from his head, he looked at the front cover, and hastily threw it away from himself, brushing his hands against his trousers. He tried to burn the front cover of _that_ away from his mind. 

When he stepped into the Archive, his boss was not who he imagined to see. Still, he greeted him pleasantly enough -- well, as pleasantly as an anti-social recluse can. Jon’s haggard appearance and lack of enthusiasm hadn’t stifled the smile on Elias’ face. 

“Hello, Jon, apologies for the magazine hitting your face, I’m sure you know why it had to be thrown out -- Have you seen Tim? I’m looking for him.” Elias said, his voice the usual calm tone it held. 

“No, Mister Bouchard --” 

“ _Elias_ ” 

“No, Elias, I arrived a few moments ago, only to get hit in the face by a magazine with the cover of _Simon Fairchild in a leopard-patterned speedo_ that had the words: ‘do you like rollercoasters?’ written on it.” 

Elias grimaced, shrugged, and began walking away. 

Jon paused in his steps and remembered it was his turn to ask Elias That, or his _coworkers_ would egg him on until he buckled and did it anyways. “Oh, Mister B - Elias, I have a question. Are you - are you married right now?” 

Elias turned to face him, still smiling, “Right now? No, why else do you think I was reading that magazine? It was hand-delivered by the man on the cover himself.” 

“...Right. Thank you, have, er, a good day?” 

“You as well, Jonathan.” 

Moving on from that weird encounter was something Jon found to be easy, considering this was nothing new, and that the first thing he was greeted with was Tim and Martin walking around the lounge, with Sasha on their shoulders. 

“Tim,” Jonathan sighed, interrupting their fun, “Elias wanted to see you.”

“Oh shit, is he finally returning what he owes me for the weed?” Tim asked. 

“Uh, I don’t know, Tim. Go talk to him and find out,” Jonathan responded, moving past the trio to enter the Archives. 

Tim frowned, and carefully helped Martin put Sasha down. They exchanged glances, and Tim departed for the office of their strange boss. 

It was a quiet day, peaceful; with birds singing cheerfully, the English sky was covered in only light scattering of clouds. Flowers had been blooming, and the insects swarmed as the warm weather made the little _pests_ move around. The Corruption always liked summer, strangely enough, not that any of them would know about that. 

When Tim returned from the office of one Elias Bouchard, he looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“What happened? Did you ask for a raise? Did he _deny_ an ask for a raise? Did he scam you out of the weed money?” Sasha asked him, he didn’t respond, moving to sit down at one of the chairs of the lounge. 

“He promoted me.” Tim said, his voice hollow, as if he hadn’t registered it himself; his face was buried in his hands, muffling him. 

“He - he _what?_ ” 

“Our boss, Elias Bouchard, the one who signs our paychecks, has promoted me to Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, the place where we work.” 

Martin patted him on the shoulder with one hand, the other passing a cup of warm tea into Tim’s hands, “Congratulations, I’m surprised he didn’t promote you sooner.” 

“Martin, stop lying, we all thought Jon was going to get the position. Or Sasha, personally I hoped for the latter. But thanks, for trying, at least.”

“You know what we should do to distract from this?” Sasha asked. “ _Jon!_ It’s your turn to ask Elias for a raise,” Sasha said, lightening the mood, as Martin went to check if what she said was true. 

The creaking of the door announced Jon’s presence before he showed himself. He looked tired, and his sweater had a tear that was previously not there, at least, not when he entered the Archives this morning. 

“Is it really?” Jon asked. 

“Yes,” Sasha answered, “And if you don’t believe us, check with Martin, everyone knows he wouldn’t lie to you.” Martin blushed behind her, in the kitchen, besides their calendar, but said nothing. 

“Can I not ask him to-morrow?” 

“To-morrow is Friday, do you _want_ to ask Elias for a raise on a _Friday_?” 

Jon sighed, “You make a point. Fine.” He left to pay his boss a visit. 

It was a monthly thing, scheduled, once a month one out of the four of them would be forced, by the others, to knock on Elias’ door and ask for a raise, to see how far they could get (he hasn’t said no so far), and whether or not if he was married (it changed every few months, the longest marriage was half a year, following it, was the longest divorce). The door was a fine thing, mahogany, sleek, and firm. It was one of the only doors in the Institute that didn’t creak. 

“Come in,” the voice of his boss answered, it was muffled. 

He pushed open the door and there, he saw his boss, the esteemed Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, with a bong. 

“Oh, hi, Jon,” Elias said in a voice that could have replaced the name ‘Jon’ with ‘Mark’, his voice had a slight slur to it, and his eyes were red. 

“Hello, Mister Bouchard, um, would it be possible for a raise I—“

“Say no more, how much?” 

Jon paused, the record was fifty thousand for a month from Tim. “A hundred thousand?” 

Elias looked up, his eyes darkened by bags under them. He looked at Jon, for what felt like an hour, it wasn’t a focused gaze, but it was still very, _very_ piercing, like there were thousands of eyes watching instead of his boss’ two. 

Then Elias looked down and signed something. “A hundred thousand?” He repeated.“That can be arranged.” And then Jon left his office. 

“How much?” They asked him when he returned. 

“A hundred thousand.” 

“Wild, do you think he’ll let Tim have a million if he wears the sexy nun costume?” Sasha asked. 

“Isn’t Elias married right now?” 

“No -- Martin, pay up,” Jon replied. 

As Martin fumbled for the five dollars, Tim hopped over the sofa to stand in-between the two.“ I can pull off a very sexy nun, for ten pounds.” 

Sasha laughed, giving him that amount, “We know Tim, remember Halloween 2015?” 

“Oh god, isn’t that the one where Elias dressed up like a suburban dad?” 

“Ha, yeah.” 

“Wait,” Martin began, “If Elias is divorced right now, then that means...” he trailed off to a collective groan from all four of them. 

“Simon Fairchild.” Tim said darkly. 

“Honestly, I don’t get it; why is he so interested in getting Elias to be his sugar baby? He’s not even - okay maybe this is because I’m a lesbian but - he’s not even hot.” Sasha exclaimed. 

“Sasha, please, for the love of everything in the world: _don’t insult Elias he--”_

Tim was interrupted by their boss seemingly manifesting out of the walls. “Heard you were talking shit about me, I care to inform you that some people find me irresistable.” He said, his head appearing almost from nowhere. 

“ _I told you_.” Tim hissed to Sasha, who smacked him lightly on the shoulder. 

Sasha didn’t have time to explain her words to Elias, because he was already gone. She smiled, a thought coming across her mind, “Hey, Tim. What day is it to-day?” 

“Thursday,” he responded, caution seeping into his voice. 

Sasha grinned, as realization dawned on Tim’s face. “To-morrow is Friday,” he said in horror. 

Martin patted his shoulder again, as Sasha laughed, “I hope you have fun spending your first day as Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute on a _Casual Friday_. What colours do you think the Hawaiian shirt will be patterned with this week?” 

“I bet they’ll be yellow,” Martin said. 

Tim shrugged dejectedly, “I guess we’ll find out to-morrow.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casual Friday? More like the worst day of Jon's week. Every week.

The next day  _ was  _ Friday. Casual Friday, where everyone outside the Archive was given permission to not follow dress code. Including their boss. 

Now, the thing about Elias Bouchard is that he’s  _ always _ wearing suits. Martin Blackwood swears that he was once at the store, buying things for his mum, and he saw Elias Bouchard. He was just standing there, looking at the canned food section. When Martin came close, debating whether to begin a conversation, he heard that Elias was speaking with someone who he couldn’t see, and so Martin left,not wanting to find out if it was Peter Lukas and be roped into yet another lengthy lecture about how to use a phone. 

The important thing is that Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, was still wearing a suit when Martin saw him. 

But Casual Friday is the day where Elias wears the most attorcious thing in his wardrobe, he’s been wearing the same thing for  _ years _ , but every week he would wear the same thing in different colours. Every week, every month, every year, Elias Bouchard would wear the  _ same outfit  _ for Casual Friday; but every week, he would wear it in a completely new colour scheme. 

Tim sat in the Head Archivist’s office. It felt wrong, like he wasn’t meant to be there. That was where Gertrude sat, where she would order people around, and Michael would bring her tea, and Gerard would accompany her on her quests. That was all gone now, and they were the new team filling in for her. Perhaps this was temporary, and she would be back? Maybe the police reports would mark her as ‘found’ after her disappearance. 

What does a Head Archivist do? Perhaps he should ask Elias to replace him with Jon, he seemed more interested and fit for the job than Tim, who was just here to make a quick pound. It wasn’t  _ Tim _ who spent too many hours in the Institute, but Jonathan Sims. 

Yes, he thought, he would talk to Elias. On a Casual Friday. He made up his mind, just as the rats in the vent started scuttling. They were big rats, and they showed up rarely. When they did, they made a ruckus that even a middle school classroom could not match. 

Tim nodded to himself, and went to look for Elias. 

He did not find Elias, but he did find Sasha, holding a box. 

“Uh, Sasha?” 

“Oh!” Sasha said bumping into him, surprised, “Sorry, didn’t see you there. Uh, this is for you? Now that you’re the Archivist, we had a lot of these statements written down but no one qualified to document them. So,” she trailed off. 

Tim took the box from her, and walked back to the Archivist’s office. Right, he would talk to Elias when he was done with these statements. There were a lot of them, not enough of them for him to remember what each one would be about. 

Well, that would be a problem, and since any technology here didn’t work, he didn’t know how to document them. Perhaps there was something around in the office, something that Gertrude uses to record them. He remembered hearing her talk in her office, when he  _ knew _ she was reading statements. 

* * *

Jon  _ hated _ Casual Fridays. He loathed that day and would dread sleeping every Thursday when he knew the day was cropping up. He couldn’t even call it  _ ‘Casual’ _ Friday, because Elias’ casual was a suit, and the rest of the employees definitely would (probably) not wear what they wore every Friday. But you never know, if they were daring enough to work in the Magnus Institute, they were probably daring enough, or foolish. 

It was more like ‘Outlandish Clothing You Wear To Work And Get Weird Stares For When You Ride The Tube To And From Work, Because Your Boss Allows You One Day of Freedom And You  _ Will Take It _ ’ Friday. 

Jon never participated in Casual Fridays, except for once. Never again, he vowed after that,  _ never again _ . 

Jon was also not bitter that he did not get the job of Archivist after all the hard work he put in. No, but he did want to check if his paycheck was going to be increased for this week after the raise, or is that only going to come into effect starting next week? 

That is the reason he is standing in front of Elias’ office, hand shaking over the doorknob. No one wanted to confront Elias on a Casual Friday, his outfit usually caused a headache just from how painful it was to see the man that signed your paychecks in  _ that _ . 

When Jon first joined the Magnus Institute, it was a Monday, and he was excited. A brand new library of knowledge for him to scour through! Then it was Tuesday, then Wednesday, then Thursday. Hushed whispers began amongst his colleagues about Casual Friday. 

Jon didn’t listen to the whispers,he overheard passing in the halls. Jon was more concerned with  _ important  _ information, like if he was to receive his paycheck on that Friday, or every other. 

Ignoring the warnings of the others, when they saw that he was standing outside the door of Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, he better be prepared for the headache that followed. He  _ had _ to know if he was able to make his half of the rent this month, he would have felt bad for having Georgie pull through for both of them,  _ again _ . 

The door had swung open, and Jon regretted not listening to his coworkers. There stood his boss, who he had previously seen wearing a suit every time Jon had come across him. Now, the man was wearing a flesh-coloured ab shirt, a Hawaiian shirt over  _ that _ shirt (it was yellow and pink that week), jorts (neon green), and crocs (bright purple), he was also wearing knee-high socks with weed patterns on them. 

Jon tried to get out as quickly as he could. 

And yet, now Jon was standing in front of the office, making the same mistake as his first time, so seemingly long ago now. He paused his knocking when he heard yelling from inside, the yelling stopped when the knock had been registered, and the door swung open. 

There stood Elias, Head of the Magnus Institute, wearing the same thing he wore every week, this time though, the Hawaiian shirt was blue and purple (though Elias would correct him, probably, and say it was something like  _ cerulean blue _ ), purple jorts, and yellow crocs. The weed socks and ab-shirt were consistent, though, as, ah,  _ distasteful _ as they were. The socks were grey, patterned with the familiar presence of the green plant; the ab-shirt was the same colour as Elias’ skin. 

“Yes, Jon?” Elias asked, as if there was no yelling a few seconds ago; peculiarly, he was the only one in the room. “How can I help you?” 

“I heard yelling.” 

Elias frowned, “Don’t worry about that, is there anything else you came here for?” 

“Yes,” Jon said, “About my pay raise.” 

“Ah, that. Well, come on in.” Elias guided Jon into his office and sat down on the desk as Jon asked his question. 

* * *

Sasha swung her leg over the arm of her chair, and turned to Martin. “Hey, how long has Tim been in his office for?” 

Martin looked at her, “I don’t know. Maybe we should check on him?” 

Sasha turned her head in agreement, and they went into the office. It wasn’t locked, which was a pleasant change from Gertrude’s unfortunate habit of locking herself in there until she was done with  _ whatever _ she had been working on at the time. 

What they stepped into looked like a whirlwind passed through. Statements were scattered everywhere, the box Sasha had been carrying before was toppled over, statements slowly falling out as the papers scattered themselves. Tim himself was moving frantically, looking for something, and perfectly oblivious to their presence. 

Sasha coughed into her elbow, and Tim jumped. “We came to check on you,” she said, “To see how you are faring with the adjustments. From the looks of it, you need four extra hands.” 

Tim laughed, “You could say that.” 

“What are you looking for, anyways?” Martin inquired, “If you’re looking for anything, that is.” 

“I know Gertrude used to record the statements with  _ something _ , I could always hear her talk to it while she was reading statements.” Tim answered. “But I can’t remember what it was.” 

Sasha held up a tape recorder she found on the floor, “She used this, Tim. I remember bumping into her one time while she was holding it. I left quickly but I could hear her muttering about people not looking where they’re going.” 

“Ah, Boomers,” Tim said, in mock-fondness, “Can’t get enough of them, but they  _ certainly  _ are sick of you.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wine is spilled and so is metaphorical tea.

It took some adjustments, but, eventually, Tim had settled into his new job, seemingly forgetting his goal of talking to Elias. He would record statements he found to be interesting, or those he considered true (which, out of a stack of a hundred, could, on a good day, be three). The rest he returned to the box Sasha would bring him every Monday, it would then be organized into the shelves by Martin and Jon on Friday. 

“Honestly, did Gertrude ever keep any organisation here? I don’t think I had noticed it before,” Jon complained, “But I do now, and it’s awful. Simply atrocious. I do not know how anyone managed to tolerate that.” 

“They didn’t. Why do you think almost no one entered that place unless Gertrude told them to? You could get lost in there, looking for a file the old woman sent you after,” Sasha told him.

Jon nodded in agreement. 

“Hey, guys,” Tim popped his head out of his office (it was still weird to refer to the office as  _ his _ , instead of Gertrude’s) “Come look at this.” 

Jon sighed, as Sasha and him entered the room. “Unlike you, Tim, some of us do not have a job simply consisting of simply listening and recording to statements; some of us have to  _ sort _ them, after Gertrude and her staff left the Archives in such a mess.” 

Tim looked at him, his mouth forming a straight line, “If you want, you can leave.” 

Jon rolled his eyes, and walked out of the office. 

“Right, okay -- well then! Come look at this, Sasha, it’s case 0140912.” Tim said, clicking on the tape recorder, and hearing his own voice echo back from the past. Sasha sat down in his chair as he leaned against the wall, one foot against it. 

When the tape recorder finished, Sasha stood from the chair and shivered. “That was disgusting, Tim. I did  _ not _ need to know about Mister Timothy Hodge’s encounter with Harriet Lee. If we had public showers in this building, I would spend the rest of my day there.” 

Tim shrugged, “At least someone else knows my plight now.” 

“Should we look into this?” Sasha asked. 

“I suppose.” 

Sasha nodded, “I’ll have Martin and myself do that, then; Jon can - Jon can return it to its proper place.” 

* * *

A mug of tea came into Jon’s vision, it was blue on the exterior, and a warm cream colour on the interior. It was the cup Martin would present to him twice a day. He almost felt bad draining it, sometimes, on the good days. 

“Tea?” 

“No, Martin, I am very busy right now.” 

Martin sighed, “Jon, drinking tea won’t kill you, and it would not serve as a distraction. Dehydration on the other hand, will.” 

“Martin I haven't slept in three days, I can assure you dehydration is not the first thing that will kill me to-day.” Jon replied, rubbing his eyes pointedly. His eyes’ bags were darker than a church of the People of the Divine Host’s. 

Martin shook his head, and turned away, leaving the mug of tea on Jon’s desk. 

Jon sighed, looking at the cup of tea. He was a little parched, that was true. No one would see him take a small sip of Martin’s tea; it was very good, quite pleasant; not too hot, not too cold, pleasantly warm. 

And, no one would see the empty mug on his desk as he read the case Tim had asked him to sort. No one. Not at all. 

But he could still swear he felt like someone was watching him. 

The case itself was, simply put, disgusting and concerning. If Mister Timothy Hodge was to be believed, then the fate of Harriet Lee was saddening, it was unfortunate, she seemed to have been a promising Arts student. 

He sighed, looking at the now-empty mug, then he turned to look at the plant beside him. It was hardly alive, no doubt the tea had been killing it. He should’ve found a better place to dump the tea, but, this day, the plant was to live with its only nutrient being pure water, not a spot of sugar, milk, or tea in the mix. 

He turned his focus back to the file that had been handed to him for sorting, it was in the 2010s, meaning it would be returned to its affiliated location. Not that Gertrude had been keeping this place organized, it was obvious, considering the fact that some files and cases from the  _ founding year _ had wound up in the place of twenty-first century files. 

Jon hated the fact that to sort this horrible pile, he was to resort to associating with his  _ coworkers _ even more; Sasha was tolerable, Tim was… his  _ boss _ now, and Martin was not counted. 

A large crashing noise from outside shook him from the focus he had whilst reading the statement, hesitating for a second, he stepped from the Archives into the room outside. There stood Tim and Martin in the middle of the hallway, looking at something. 

“Do you two need something?” Jon asked unfavorably, the two had jumped. Martin’s face flushed, Jon could see that even from behind, seeing as to how his ears would always also turn red. 

“Uh, no! We’re fine, we have everything handled. Right, boss?” Martin responded, turning to Tim for assurance. 

Tim paused, perhaps not realising that ‘boss’ was in his direction, “Yeah. Nothing to worry about Jon, you can just go back to whatever it is you’re doing.” 

“Sorting the statements you send in to their proper organised locations.” 

“Ah, right! Well, you’re doing great,” Tim awkwardly waved, “just keep doing what you were, nothing to worry about here.” 

Jon looked at him questioningly, “And the crashing noise?” 

“What crashing noise?” Tim asked. 

Jon sighed, “The one that happened a few moments before I opened the door, are you two trying to cover it up?” 

“What?” Martin asked, “Of course not!”

“We would never,” Tim added. 

“Then step away from whatever you two are hiding.” 

The two paled a little, but Tim recovered more quickly. “Jon, you can’t tell a boss what to do,” he laughed, awkwardly. 

“Fine; can I  _ please  _ see what you two are hiding?” 

Tim sighed, and stepped back. 

“That’s…” 

Tim sighed, “Yeah, it is.” 

“Why do the two of you even have -  _ had _ \- Elias’ wine bottle?” Jon asked incredulously. 

“Divorce party.”

“D-Divorce  _ party _ ?!” 

Tim laughed, “Yeah, Double Boss, ah, is gonna host one soon. You know, to celebrate his most recent divorce, as you do. So, I found a way to access his office -- Rosie’s fantastic, let me tell you, I’ll try to get Elias to give her a raise later, for all this spectacular help she was -- and steal one of the wine bottles in advance.” 

“And the crashing noise?” 

“It,” Tim sighed, as if he was mourning something, “It slipped out of my hand as I was running back with Martin.”

Martin frowned, “Please don’t associate me with this situation, I’ve only been here since I saw you leave Elias’ office.” 

“Right, sorry.” Tim said, turning his back to Jon, and his head to the broken glass bottle. “Martin -- or Jon, if you care to help--” 

“I do not.” Jon replied, turning to leave back into the Archives. 

“Okay, sure. Martin, can you please get the broom, a dustpan, and some gloves from the janitor’s office?” 

Martin nodded, and left in the direction of the office, as Tim stood by the broken glass bottle, with wine pooling underneath it. 

* * *

The Janitor’s office was a plain, unremarkable -- almost  _ boring _ \-- room in the haywire place like the Magnus Institute.  


It had white walls, checkered floors, and was dimly lit. The tools were propped up against the left corner of the room, while files and shelves filled the rest of it. A desk was crammed into the corner opposite the tools. 

Martin carefully stepped around the pile of files that had unceremoniously been left on the floor, and assessed the tool pile for the required materials his Boss -- that still felt weird to say -- had requested. 

Still, he retrieved the tools with little hassle, and when he had reappeared in the hallway him and Tim had broken that accursed bottle in, Tim was sitting on the floor, looking at the shards, and the wine pooling under them. 

“Everything alright?” Martin asked. 

Tim startled. “Uh, yeah, everything’s fine. Did you get what I asked?” 

Martin awkwardly moved his hands a bit, to show that he was holding the supplies.

“Excellent, Elias hasn’t come down here, but I’m getting the feeling of being watched, either way. It’s creepy, do you get that feeling whenever he’s around?” 

“I guess? I mean, I wouldn’t call it  _ being watched _ but he looks at a person really intensely, it’s almost like he knows what you’re thinking. It’s weird, yeah, kinda.” Martin mumbled. 

“C’mon Martin, you gotta admit it, it’s weird how whenever your Double Boss is around we all get the distinct goosebumps a person gets whenever they think someone’s watching them.” 

“Let’s just clean up the shards, Tim. I don’t want to gossip, not about this, especially.” Martin said, pointedly looking at the ground. 

Tim paused. 

“So you agree?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Tim. But, if it’ll get you to stop, then yeah, I agree. I think that whenever I’m in the Institute - and  _ especially _ when I am around Elias, that this- this  _ feeling _ of being watched, judged, known comes into play. I don’t like it; and I don’t want to speak of it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

They had cleaned up Tim’s broken remains of the stolen bottle, and quietly moved the glass into a nearby garbage disposal. The actual spilled contents of the bottle were soaked up by a towel, and said towel was tossed into the same garbage disposal as the glass. 

Neither had said a word after their conversation, though each held themselves in a slight tense position, Martin even had a slight frown on his features. 

“Sorry for snapping at you,” Martin eventually said, as Tim was returning the materials back to the Janitor’s office. 

“No, no, the apology is all mine,” Tim laughed from within the room, muffled a bit by the wall, “I shouldn't have pressed.” 

“It’s alright, no harm done.” 

Tim stuck his face out the door, “Alright then. How about the three of us -- Sasha, you, and I -- go out to the nearby pub, for fun! It’ll be a bonding experience.” 

“Are you compensating for the broken glass of stolen wine we just spent the past hour cleaning up? And what about Jon?”    


“Maybe I am, that’s not the matter though, don’t worry about it! What about Jon?” Tim said, brushing his hands against his trousers. 

“Shouldn’t Jon come too?” Martin asked, his hands snaking their way against each other - he was wringing them. 

“Martin, If you can get Jon to leave the workplace.” Tim said, slowly, pausing every few words, “Then I will  _ personally _ see to getting you a raise.” 

“Isn’t it my turn to ask Elias for a raise next month, anyways?” 

“Uh, that’s not important -- Double raise then!” 

“Should a boss be technically doing this? Bribing their employees and, ah, going out for drinks with them?” Martin asked. 

“Eh, no one cares about legalities at this Institute - and Elias only cares if you swear, which is hypocritical of him, considering how he can run his mouth inside his office-- have you heard him yell sometimes? It’s like there’s a second person in there.” 

“Uh, no, there’s, ah, I don’t talk to Elias that often. Can’t say that I’ve noticed.” 

“Sure, Martin. You said you were going to ask Jon to join us?” Tim said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Martin turned red, “I’ll go do that then!” And he left. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so about season five, huh? the first two chapters of this fic were written before it and sasha as the archivist is such a good au. my friend's too far in with this one though to back out and so crack-au-tim-archivist is still going to be written no matter what season five throws at us.

“Knock, knock!” A voice cheerfully exclaimed through the door of the Archives. 

Jon sighed, as Elias opened the door and let himself in. “Good evening, Mister Bouchard.” 

“ _ Elias _ ” 

“Good evening, Elias.”

Elias closed the door to the Archives after himself, and stood, hands folded behind his back. He looked, for all the world to see, like any  _ formal _ boss would. But, Jon has memories of Fridays, and, can vouch, that for Elias, this is not the case. 

Something must have been off. 

“Everyone has left, Jon,” Elias said, his brow furrowing in something that looked like concern, “The Institute is closing, I am,” he paused. “I am making my rounds, making sure all my employees are filing out, like taxes; you, are still here. Even your  _ boss _ , Mister Stoker, has left, along with the rest of the Archivist Assistants.” 

Elias was lying. He did not do rounds, not ever. Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute,  _ hardly _ — if ever — leaves his office unprompted. 

Jon nodded, turning back to the statement, ignoring Elias. Tim had left out for them to research - this one was trying to set up a religious figure that was seemingly ‘possessed’. The previous one had been about a Bone-turner? They were all mixed up, perhaps he had been reading about something once again on Hill Top Road. He was vaguely aware of Elias droning on about something or other, his head was starting to hurt. 

His head was starting to hurt a lot, recently, after researching the statements, and he would feel like he was being watched. He wondered if Tim, Sasha, even Martin had the same feelings about it. He’d resort to asking them tomorrow, once they return from the bar; that is, if Tim makes it to work, with a hangover; Sasha, who would probably also be nursing a hangover; or Martin, who would probably be caring for them. He doubted it. 

His head was almost - almost  _ pulsing _ with how much it would start to hurt. He remembered leaving a cot somewhere in the Archives, when he would stay late (all too often, many times Sasha would open the door to see him loading up on five cups of black coffee, once, it was two shots of vodka added). Perhaps he should lie down on it? 

The cot was a ragged small thing, not meant for people that exceeded 6’. It had two old coverings that had, somehow, been acquired. He didn’t remember when. A small pillow, that was too hard on one side, and too lumpy on the other. If Jon wasn’t so exhausted by the time he would collapse on it, (usually because his coworkers would force him to) he wouldn’t care. 

“Jon? Are you listening to me?” Elias. Right. He had forgotten he was there. His other boss still stood at the door, his hands still crossed behind his back. 

“Apologies, sir, my mind wandered. Would you repeat what you said?” Jon asked, focusing on the shadows on his desk, trying to distract his mind from the forming migraine. He started regretting going through five of the statements, when the rest of his coworkers could hardly get through one, sometimes. The statements were obviously  _ real _ , the ones that had caused the prickling of paranoia, and pain. 

Elias sighed, “Jon, following recent developments, staff members are not permitted to stay after closing hours. Staff members will not be allowed to stay overnight, either. I’m sorry, but, you will be unable to stay for the hours you do.” 

“Why?” Jon hadn’t meant to ask that out loud, but it slipped. Elias paused, hands lightly loosening from their position. He almost made a jerky motion, as if he wanted to adjust his tie, but decided against it last minute. 

“Because, Jon, staff safety is my first concern - after budgeting - and people staying overnight, or leaving past closing hours into the dark streets is not perfectly safe. Of course, in an emergency like a natural disaster, such as a flood, an employee will be able to house themselves here, providing they can cover for their own bedding, food, and the like. You have a flat, Jon, I’m sure.” 

Jon frowned. “Yes, yes, makes sense. Of course.” 

Elias smiled, nodded, and left through the door. Jon breathed a sigh of relief, interactions with the highest authority was taxing, to everyone, unless you  _ are  _ the highest authority. 

The assistant paused, he looked at the statement he was reading, against Tim’s warnings; the man had just requested the information, but the statements  _ lured _ Jon in, they were beckoning, singing, to him. He knew it was ridiculous, but, he was a fool if he were to not return their call. He wondered, once more, if the others felt this way. 

He brushed his hand against his small desk, it was oak, a peculiar type of wood to use for such a dingy, dreary place like the Magnus Institute. What had brought him here, anyways? He wondered. 

Jon shook his head, it was too late to back out now. He was an Archivist Assistant, that’s good, he was at a high position in the Institute, and in less danger than the poor people working in Artifact Storage. 

Grabbing his coat, he left the musty room that he had locked himself away in for the past few hours. He stepped out, into the hallways of the Institute. They were dark, not surprising, because he was fairly certain that he was one of the only people left in the building. The rest were, most likely, someone who had fallen asleep at one point, Elias, and that’s it. 

Climbing the stairs to leave the lowest part of the Institute, had brought him out into the higher floors. Unlike those who were on the second floor, he wouldn’t have to deal with climbing more than one flight of stairs to reach the ground floor. 

Straightening out and brushing out whatever sort of lint that may have gathered on his clothing, Jon took a breath. The hallways seemed to stretch for far-longer than he thought they usually did, but, seeing as to how he simply stayed in the room he worked in until either Martin or Sasha - or whoever had worked with him prior to his promotion - would walk in on him, still working, and Sasha would tell him off for it; Martin would kindly ask, but either way, they would both ask for him to retire to the cot they kept in their department. 

It was quiet, as was expected. The darkness was beyond simply the time, it was sprawling, almost inhuman, almost  _ living,  _ in a way. It was a creature, a thing of fear; something unpleasant. 

Jon moved through the creature, it was minutes of traversing familiar hallways and corridors, until he stood in-front of the exit door. It was ornate, grand, still the same since probably founding-year, with a few adjustments to make it functional. 

Opening the door, he felt the cold rush of the night air hit him. It was muddled with a dampness, and, as he opened his eyes, he saw that the sky was weeping. Raindrops came in heavy amounts, pouring in clumps that landed on the asphalt. 

He didn’t check the weather. 

“Umbrella?” 

Jon startled. He turned to look, dread building in his gut. His gut was correct. 

“I have two, since one was a gift from my ex-husband, and since he has been spending the day gathering what little trinkets he had at my home, I took both of ours.” Elias said, as if they were discussing the dismal weather. 

“...Right.”

“You seem to be lacking one, Jon; have you checked the weather? It’ll be raining all week,” here, he laughed. “I wouldn’t one of my archivist assistants falling ill, and having to, oh, leave work for two weeks due to an ailment, it would, certainly, be unfavourable. I implore you to take one of these — I certainly cannot have a need for two of a thing I only need one! — just return it tomorrow, and bring your own.” 

“Thank you?” It was phrased like a question. The Magnus Institute was a place of research for the paranormal but this was just  _ strange _ . And awkward. Also, unpleasant. 

“Of course, the health of my employees is one of my greatest concerns.” Elias' seemingly permanent smile grew wider, as if he was sharing a joke with someone he could not see. 

The umbrella was, to put it simply, clearly made with a high price in mind. The wood was a fine mahogany, the metal rod lacked a single dent, and the umbrella covering itself, which had a peculiar design of an eye on it, was soft to the touch, yet functioned well to serve as a shield between the holder and itself. 

As if the gods had finished mocking Jon, Elias bid him goodnight, reminded him that he was to return the umbrella the  _ moment _ he returned to the workplace, and left in the other direction of where Jon was going. 

As he turned to head to his flat, he swore he saw something silver on the ground. 

* * *

The welcoming warmth of the pub cast a bright yellow glow against the dreary, blue atmosphere of the outside world. When the door opened, and a gust of cold air would crawl up the necks of all indoor patrons, and the sounds of the wailing rain would fill the ears of all. 

Charming amicable laughter filled the ambience of the building, as people chatted their evenings away. Just at the same time, their wallets would whittle away in whatever payment they had would be spent on their evenings. The music would continue being the white noise, filling their ears in the back, as whatever conversation they might have been having was filling the foreground. 

“And then - and then he  _ stabbed  _ it. Can you believe it?” One voice said, very cheerfully, with a slight slur to it, as he had perhaps one too many to drink. 

“Really? I mean, where’s the proof he had that this man was even a ‘vampire’?” Sasha asked, moving her long hair behind her ear as she adjusted her glasses. 

“There wasn’t -- I mean, not counting the weird teeth Trevor left with his statement. Before he died.” 

“ _ Guys _ ,” Martin hissed, “Keep your voices down; people can  _ hear _ us.” 

“Right, right, sorry.” Tim raised his hands in a placating manner. “The entire statement was slightly unnerving to read, not as much as the-- the, uh, the  _ Bone-turner’s Tale _ . But still pretty unsettling.” 

“God, what did we get ourselves into?” Sasha huffed, leaning back in her chair, “Worm-infested people, the sky  _ eating _ people, weird bosses, the stupid Leitners, vampires, tentacles of doom that foresee your death; what next? People replacing you and no one noticing? I’m unforgettable! So, that last one doesn’t apply to me.” 

“Unforgettable you say?” Tim smiled, “Then pray tell, who are you? I have seemed to have forgotten this lovely stranger seated at the same table as me.” 

Sasha gasped, affronted, and she put a hand over where her heart was. “Tim! I am  _ wounded _ . I’m Sasha James, and don’t you forget it.” 

Tim chuckled, “Sure. Enough talk about work, do any of us have interesting gossip one can share?” 

“Interesting gossip that doesn’t involve you breaking into our boss’ office, stealing his wine, only to  _ break _ it?” 

Martin piped up, “Tim tripped! He fell because he was running back to the Archives, we almost got there, and then we didn’t.” 

Tim took a swig from his cup, “I  _ tripped _ . I’m still mourning it,” he draped a hand over his head and leaned back, “It was simply  _ terrible _ . Such a shame to let such high-quality things be lost.” 

Various noises of agreement met his sudden outburst. They were pretty certain that the wine was gold-flaked. 

“Ah,” Tim straightened up, “What’s lost is lost, there’ll probably be more at the frivolous ‘Divorce celebration’ Elias is calling for following his divorce to  _ whoever _ \--” 

“Peter Lukas.” Martin interrupted. 

“Following his divorce to  _ Peter Lukas _ \-- wait, how do you know that, Martin? Is there something you’re not telling us?” Tim asked, his grin growing, “Are you secretly the right-hand man of Elias Douchard? Have you been reporting back to him about all our crimes and misdemeanors?”

Martin laughed heartily, for a while, he kept laughing; it was a warm laugh, one that made you smile and chuckle along. “No, I had the displeasure of meeting him a few times, most of them in passing. One time in being roped into helping Elias explain to the Captain about how a phone works. That took me four hours.” Martin nodded when he saw their outraged expressions. 

“I am,” Sasha put a hand on Martin’s arm, “ _ So  _ sorry you had to endure that. You, my good sir, are the bravest of all of us here.” 

“Captain? Captain of what?” Tim asked.    


“Some boat, the  _ Turbulent _ or something.” Martin replied, waving a hand. 

“Nah,” Sasha interjected, “He’s probably old, probably a name like the  _ Tailcoat _ . To really get across the fact that he’s old and boring.” 

“Tailcoats are quite nice, actually,” Martin said quietly into his drink. 

“Right, okay, do any of you have some gossip we can pour over until we’re too out of it to think? Office romances, burglaries, scandals?” Tim asked, looking pointedly at Martin. 

“ _ I  _ heard,” Sasha said, stretching out her words, “that  _ someone _ ,” she, too, turned to Martin, “has a crush on a certain someone.” 

“Oh, really?” Tim turned to look at her. 

“Yes, it’s on our favourite office grump, I heard.” 

“Guys” Martin’s cheeks and ears were reddening, “This isn’t fair.” 

“Really Martin? Jon? He eats  _ rum raisin  _ ice cream --  _ rum raisin! _ ” 

Martin was getting progressively more flustered, “I -- I do  _ not!  _ None of you have proof, I do not. We are simply friends. That’s it.” 

“Martin you listened to his speech about emulsifiers, attentively. Tim fell asleep during it!  _ I _ started spacing after the first ten minutes. Your ice cream was dripping over your hand by the time Jon finished his lecture.” 

Martin sputtered, “ _ And? _ That- that doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Martin,” Sasha said, “You make him tea. Everyday.” 

“I make all of you tea!” 

“Yes,” Tim added, “But you  _ don’t _ meticulously make sure that everything is perfect with our tea. I cannot say the same thing for the ones you make for Jon.” 

“Well--” 

“What do you see in him, Martin?” 

Martin paused, his face moving onto the features that make up a frown. “Well, he’s nice, and funny, and interesting. Talking to him always makes you come away with some new knowledge about something you didn’t know before, or, a new tidbit you learn about him.” 

Tim ran a hand through his hair, “Okay, most of that, I can get. But he’s  _ nice? _ Martin, did you get displaced in our universe, and you’re from a world where Archivist Assistant Jonathan Sims is  _ nice _ ? Maybe Sasha got the promotion she  _ deserved _ in that world.” 

Martin sighed, “Look, can we drop this? How come you didn’t get the promotion, Sasha? We all thought you were going to be Gertrude’s replacement.” 

Sasha frowned, thinking; before she could answer, Tim snapped into a state of something more sober. “Probably some sexist bullshit,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, “Elias probably would mention the words of our crusty Victorian founder Jimmy-Jack Magnus. Whatever, it’s dumb, Sasha should’ve gotten the promotion, we all know this.” 

Martin nodded, Sasha murmured a vague sound of agreement. 

They drifted off into pleasantries, jokes, the occasional yell. The warm glow of the pub settled over them, embracing them; and as the patrons slowly filed out as the closing hour drew closer, they, too, left. 

As they were leaving Martin (being used as a helping hand to Tim, who could hardly keep himself upright) saw a flash of red in his peripheral vision, only in the corner, and very briefly, before disappearing into the darkness of an alley.  _ Oh well _ , he thought, _ it was probably nothing.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, the other umbrella was Peter’s and it had little anchors on it, the only reason he had it was because Elias found it hideous. This isn’t important but it’s nice to know. Thank you all for the surprising support! My friend is astounded and overjoyed.


End file.
